Gray Clouds
by Loveable Otaku
Summary: As long as we live, they'll always be there. Rated T for dark themes and language.
1. Slave Warrior

**Wow, I wasn't surprised when I saw an Akame ga Kiru section on here. BUT, I was really surprised on how low it is. Akame ga Kiru is a really great manga, and now they're producing an anime adaptation to it! I'm definitely going to be on that shit! I will gladly take part in boosting more stories for the Akame ga Kiru section. Regarding to my Snk story, don't worry, I'm still doing it is just I'm lazy when it comes to Pathway to Ascension. I'm trying to determine what I should write about. Anyway, let me stop talking because I'm pretty sure you guys don't give a fuck and a half.**

**Disclaimer: Akame ga Kiru is owned by Takahiro and Tashiro Testuya. i just like fantasizing.**

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Slave Warrior**_

Here, night is eternal.

The shadows are always looming, always thickening. The darkness is never-ending. The evil is ominous. She could not remember when all this began. Her memories, as vague as they are, do not reach back to the start of this.

She didn't remember life before this, or anything before the arena. It is like nothing ever happened, like she did not exist, before they somehow captured her and brought her here, changing her forever. She used to make scratch marks on the stone floor to keep track of time, but she forgot if they meant hours, days or months. She stopped counting when she realized she would never escape.

She remembered that at first she was strong; _no_, she_ is _strong.

That is the reason for her suffering. She could punch through walls, send boulders soaring with wild kicks and make the very earth ring with a stomp. She thought she had the strength in her to escape. She thought all they did was disgusting and sickening, and it would never appeal to her. She thought she could resist them.

When she started seeing that their strength over-powered her, when she realized their darkness had spread onto her, infecting her, she begun to… forget.

She forgot many things: her life, the faces of her family and friends, hope, faith,… she even started forgetting her own name. At first it was scary; but soon the fear faded when she saw it was doing her no good. From that point on, she simply became an empty shell, occasionally ruthless, hateful or confused, depending on the situation. And they saw this change in her. They saw how they had made her: empty, cold, and twisted, just like them. From the moment she became a void, she became like them, accepting everything they did to her, they forced her to do, no matter how painful or humiliating it might have once seemed.

She's a slave warrior.

And yet once, She was someone…

* * *

A small, windowless room.

The small room was dark, lit only by the flickering, insecure flame of a single torch, which sent shivering shadows into every corner. The hard, cold, stone floor shone mildly in the pale light and the bare walls rose high to a dark ceiling.

This was her room.

Sitting in a corner furthest from the door, hunched on a pile of blankets used as a bed, she sat. Her pale arms were wrapped around her equally paled legs and her chin rested on her knees. If her dark, empty eyes had not been open, capturing the light of the torch, she would have seemed asleep or dead.

The girl sighed gently, continuing her vague stare at the wall. Time here was irrelevant, as if it was an element from a child's fantasy book, to never come but a fascination to dream. Who knew time was so infectious; weaved into human lives like sculpted hands intertwined until one becomes nothing without the other.

Out of the calm, there suddenly came a faint noise. The girl's head snapped up, and she blinked, as if emerging from a deep dream. She turned her head to the wood door and listened intently for another sound.

The noise repeated itself, and this time, she heard the words more clearly.

"No! Please, no! I'm sorry! I'll do it…NO! Please! PLEASE!" It was a shrill voice of a woman.

Her head fell back to her knees. It was, indeed, better to sit like this. Her red hair—that cuddled her nape and collarbone but left her back neck lonely and bare—somewhat muffled out the screaming. Another scream and more pleading broke the silence.

"Why do they scream?" She wondered aloud. "No one can hear them and it increases their pleasure to hurt them more...just accept what they ask of you…that's all you have to do."

The noises were soon cut short. The girl knew that the silence could be defined as many things; obedience, acceptance, death, though the latter would not at all be surprising.

She looked up at the torch and watched the delicate flame flicker softly, ever so softly with frosted eyes. Soft. A contradiction that would never be said, never be heard, but would be a piece left in the conscious part of her mind; a place barren by hollowness but awake by basic thought.

Nothing was soft about this place.

From the corridor and beyond, she heard the sound of a door opening and closing, heavy footsteps slowly making their way to her room. It would always be that same rhythm of walking, in and out the hallways, to entice growing madness in everyone.

The girl uncurled her legs and set them on the floor. The footsteps grew louder until, finally, they reached her room; there, they stopped.

They were there, she knew it, yet she was not afraid…

"You're fighting tomorrow…are you ready for your 'training?'"

The sound of a key turning a lock was heard. Training…she had a long, terrible night, so hopefully, they would be gentle with her. Of course, that was an empty prayer.

The girl patiently waited for them to drag her out the room.

* * *

The crowd was always rambunctious.

Filtering into the well-carved seats, waiting for their entertainment to start. Most people came to the arena everyday to fulfill their lust filled hatred for humanity, seeing people get maimed and knowing that it would never be them duking it out like that.

But the population seemed greater today than other days. With the sudden influx, it seemed the arena itself grew large to accommodate. Today was a special day for the crowd.

Today was the day Wild Shadow would be fighting.

Ah, Wild Shadow, the most merciless opponent by far, the best fighter they had and the crowd loved it. It was always such a thrill to watch the Wild Shadow fight, pounding people to a bloody pulp with immense strength. Wild Shadow has no need for weapons or accessories. Its fists are like knives, kicks like swords, ready to spray blood for the begging crowd.

Yes, its.

Because Wild Shadow was an enigma, a teasing one.

Face shielded by a simple hood, it was miraculous how that hood never slipped off once, not once, with all the leaping, flipping and bending Wild Shadow does. Most people, mainly guys, predict that Wild Shadow is a boy because _he _has crazy strength. Some others predict that Wild Shadow is a girl because _she _lands too gracefully unlike the rest. There are others, people who could be viewed as too convoluted, say that Wild shadow is a humanoid weapon crafted for the purpose to fight, like those weapons used in the military.

Their curiosity meant money and money makes the world go round.

"Everyone, are you READY!" the announcer asked.

The crowd answered in a mad frenzy.

"Here comes the Wild Shadow!"

And there, the Wild Shadow strode from the hidden section of the arena into the light and as soon as the crowd saw, their noise escalated.

On the opposite side, the gate rose in a slow ascend, a gaping darkness that refused to let any light in, but broken from the darkness, a figure, who could have been shorter than Wild Shadow, the distance was far too great to tell, walked out. No, more like trembled out.

The distance closed and the light hit the figure, revealing a young woman, dressed in tangled cloths and skin that told of her love for sunlight, but it was scarred as well. _Torture. _She lifted a strand of kinky brown hair away from her eyes, but she refused to look at Wild Shadow. She fumbled with her weapon—a sword that appeared to be too skillful for her—clutched her clothing and shook some more.

It was over as soon as it began.

As soon the announcer said go, Wild Shadow lunged and threw punches that if the woman attempted to dodge, would've tore the ground. Wild Shadow tackled the opponent in every corner of the arena and the crowd shouted because they knew this was no competition, perhaps filler for their number one contender. Hearing bones crack was music to their ears.

"Kill her!" someone shouted, and the cry was picked up by others, repeated until it became a chanted litany of _kill her, kill her, kill her_. It happened every time.

Wild Shadow, with a high kick, knocked the woman's head right off her neck and the head flew into the concrete wall, stuck in ripples of cracks. The audience went crazy, drumming their feet against the bleachers, shrieking their approval.

"That could have been the shortest fight ever, am I right folks!" The announcer prompted a furious round of applause. "Wild Shadow for the win!"

Everything was cheery, everyone was joyful. Wild Shadow just stood there.

The blood wouldn't stop flowing.

* * *

Tonight was award night.

It happens each night she wins a battle. The girl was fully prepared because award night was an excuse for the owners to dick around more than usual and get drunk, not like its not part of their daily routine. But on award night, other victims aren't bothered and the owners focus solely on her, uncomfortably.

While the workers washed her, her thoughts travelled to the woman she had battled earlier today, the one she killed under pressure—it's always under pressure. Her screams sounded familiar and it took the rest of her bath time to realize that the person she battled today was the girl pleading yesterday night.

The owners definitely forced her to fight and when the girl staunchly refused, they tortured her. And now she's dead, nothing more but a wrecked corpse.

The revelation shouldn't have stung as much as it did. She has been doing this for what felt like a while; the owners exploiting her strength, forcing battles against animals and humans alike. Her fight with the three tigers is what really got her alias out there. Her soul has already blackened.

People in here were afraid of her and while she met it on with indifference, somewhere inside made her feel dirtier than the scum crawling around the arena.

After dressing her in draping clothing that formed some sort of dress, nameless guards escorted her to the parlor where lively commotion lit the room goldenly. It was a glittering affair, as always, where the owners drowned their cups in wine and alcohol and a feast that could probably feed every slave in the arena covered the table. She just hoped that they would give her more than an apple core and a slice of bread this time.

They were unaware of her presence when she entered the room, too engulfed into their chatter that she only listened with half an ear. But what did catch her was the part about food.

"With this food shortage going on in the Capital, it's really great that we're racking in funds." One of the owners said, taking a huge bite of his chicken leg. The girl had to stop herself from drooling.

"Yeah, there's been a lot of civil unrest." Another owner added worriedly.

"These things are happening because majority of the people are too poor to afford anything and they're whining their asses off about it." One owner gulped down his drink.

"I agree with Malik. We're rich because we work hard and the Empire caters to people like us," Another stated, cutting a piece of juicy steak and eating it. "That's just reality and it's not our fault people don't like it."

After finishing that statement, all four men turned to the girl standing there, quiet and impassive, like a good little slave girl. They always did it, trailing her form, not so much in lust or in pride—of course not, she's a slave—but as normally as someone would a mere object. The only reason she's special is because she's their money-maker right now. Special, in their eyes, was even too extravagant a word for her.

The owner eating the chicken leg laughed. "That really was the shortest fight ever! Ha ha! We all knew that slave couldn't stand a chance! She even knew it!" Biting in another chunk and another, he eyed the chicken leg that had minimal amount of meat on it. "Here, an award for making me laugh."

He threw the chicken leg at her and she watched it with fervent eyes as it tumbled around the floor until it reached her toes. She slowly licked her lips, but she did not make a quick grab for it. The girl wanted to please them as much as possible, but she must have for sure made them elated with this fight if they're throwing meat.

_At a cost of a life_

_She would've died anyway_

It looked so succulent, so divine, smelled so wonderful that she had to pick it up gingerly or else it would lose its keep. And she did, so carefully that for once, she actually looked like a normal girl instead of a bloodlust warrior.

Now that it was in her palms, she eagerly took a bite into the already dwindled chicken. She closed her eyes. She didn't know what heaven or hell was, but it felt so surreal, the flavor settling in her mouth, tastefully. With the sense of euphoria that she couldn't handle, she opened her mouth, forgetting that she's a slave, forgetting that her existence is worth less than dirt.

"Can I have some more?"

The room turned from gold to black as everything became still. The girl froze, her heart stopped beating. She cast a glance to the chicken bone, now on the floor; she unconsciously dropped it and now she made a mess.

The owner with the wine—Malik was it?—stood and walked towards her, using that heavy, slow stride again. She wasn't afraid, she really wasn't, but she was wondering what they were going to do to her. She rarely got in trouble now because she managed to adapt to their workings, but she was pretty sure she received most, if not, all of their punishment tactics.

"Winning many brawls and suddenly we're greedy, huh?" He crossed his arms behind his back. "Strip."

The girl glanced neither to the left or the right. Stripping was rare for them. The owners occasionally ordered her to do it, but again she adapted to it.

Her hands went to the clumpy knot that held her dress together and, in haste to not upset them further, unraveled it and let it form a ring around her feet. While her hair was parted forwards, it only concealed her breast partially.

"Hey, looks like someone grew up." He stated, eyes particularly roaming her chest.

"Well she should be around seventeen." The owner with the steak informed.

"You've actually been counting?

_Seven…teen._

Her age has always been unknown to her. She did take note that her body was changing. She had more thickness to her legs; her chest has been growing plump. It became more of a distraction than anything when she fought (not like it really impeded her). If she could only remember how old she was when she gotten captured, then she would able to truly marvel how long she has been here, how long she survived when others did not.

But she reveled too long in her newfound knowledge of her age, for the girl missed a command from one of the owners telling her to kneel.

"David, she's being disobedient, take **it **out."

Her body locked; brain, blood, bones froze in place and seized in some kind of uncontrollable paralysis, so much that she couldn't breathe. How could she forget about that; the whole reason why she never dared to rebel against them again.

Digging into his clothes, he retrieved a hand device, a small, boxy, complicated control that the girl knew all too well. She shuddered, shook her head madly; this was the first in a while she showed any ounce of fear.

Because they put something inside her, something that responded to that device. Pleading was futile, she could never plead, but the sight of the device made nerves still untouched tingle with a dreadful anticipation.

They pressed the button; her body was on hot fire.

This pain she could never be immune to. It was too much, like a hundred glass embedded whips striking at her simultaneously, at every nook her body possessed. She hissed in a breath already stolen by pain.

"One," She squeaked. It was important to keep count, very important. One miss up and they'll begin the count over.

"Up to thirty." The owner informed, chugging down the rest of his wine and pressing the button.

"Two."

They each took a turn. One would press the button, a hissing count; pass it on to the next, a hissing count and so on. The girl simply counted, making the words short and sharp so she wouldn't bite her tongue when the pain lashes down again. She retreated to her void until she reached ten. Then she got lost in her own empty void.

"T-T-Thirty." It was more spittle and choking than a word, but they accepted it.

Her breathing was quick and shallow, and now that she regained some of her senses she had left over, she realized hot runnels of tears dripped from her face, though disguised by sweet apple hair that now clung to her face.

The pain hadn't damage her hearing, so she was aware when someone stepped close to her body. She raised her head subserviently despite the circumstances.

"You're fighting in two days. The opponent is big…looks tough."

He calmly grasped her chin. "Don't lose."

Strict and lethal his voice was. "Yes, Master."

Much, much later, when all was done and she was surrounded by the noises of sleeping bodies, she discovered a marking underneath her pile of blankets,

The number eleven.

* * *

**The slave girl has been there for six damn years! I probably would've died in that place!**

**Anyway, this is kind of an experimentation of sorts, testing the water. I hope you liked it and please support the Akame ga Kiru fandom!**

**Review, fave, follow, blah, blah, blah.**


	2. A Beautiful Day

**This was late because I'm a lazy prick...proceed.**

**Disclaimer: Akame ga Kiru does not belong to me in any shape or form. All those sexy characters belong to Tashiro Tetsuya and ****Takahiro. **Only slave girl belongs to me.

* * *

_**Chapter 2: A Beautiful Day**_

The next two days came and fleeted.

Training was usual, even more brutal than before. Word of the fight with her against the anonymous contender spread throughout Capital City—well, the rich section—like a plague; no doubt that the arena would be packed to capacity tonight. The owners probably bet huge money on this fight and of course they plan to get their full income. In the span of those two days, the girl has been turning in for the night with a body seared by exhaustion, even more so when she definitely couldn't shirk her work duties in the morning.

If she had thought the other slaves resented her before, it was nothing to how they felt about her now. Their wariness turned to bitterness and malevolence. Hearing the owners' concerns about how tough her opponent would be, chatter among chatter wished for her to get destroyed by her opponent. She heard them, every night while she trudged to her desolate cage, whispers in the dark air wished for her end, an ugly one of course.

She didn't blame them, for the many times she killed many of her own just to please, she couldn't blame them at all.

The morning of the big day, she was summoned to the owners' office, to her surprise. She seldom ever goes there. She only was called there if she gotten in trouble, but if she recalled, she didn't do anything worth troublesome. She just knew that being in that room made the scars on her back shiver.

Their office was an opulent den of comfort and luxury, in clear contrast to the environment of the rest of the arena. Ornate tapestries hung from the wall, and thick, plush carpets covered the stone floor. The wood furniture was sturdy and well made, the better to serve its occupants.

Or occupant for when the girl entered there was only one owner standing in the room, the one that most certainly loves his wine.

He heard her walk in and he faced her, a command already at the tip of his tongue.

"Kneel," he ordered and she did so.

"You wanted to see me, Master?" The girl inquired softly.

"Are you prepared for the fight tonight?"

This was unexpected. They never asked her if she was ready for a fight before, would just throw her into the ring and command her to win. But now that the question was asked, was she ready? She has faith in her abilities, but knowing that the owners are really worried about this battle had her worried.

If she lost, Wild Shadow would be no more, a mere fragility in everyone's mind. If she lost, her adversary would become the champion.

If she lost, she would be free.

_Death…would be better than this…_

_Death is always better._

Now, her mind, if it was possible, became a little blacker. For everything that she was, death had always been an inconsistent thought. It was there, but it was not, or not at the forefront at least. She didn't want to kill herself, but if someone else killed her, then…that would be alright. All the slaves would get what they wanted. Her owners might—will—pull the device on her, but it would be useless if she were dead.

Why didn't she think of this sooner!?

If she had lost from the very beginning, she would've saved herself from perpetual suffering; all this and nothing else…

The girl finally gave her answer. "Yes, Master. I'm _prepared_."

Malik nodded his head. "We paid high money for you to win and we don't intend on losing."

He sauntered over and slammed his foot on the top of her head, pressing her face down to the carpet. "So heed my warning when I say don't lose."

"Y-Yes, master." Though, she has every intention of losing.

"If you win, I'll give you an award."

This piqued her interest. It didn't sound like he was referring to award night where she barely gets anything at all.

"A…award..?" She asked skeptically.

"Yes." He removed his foot from her head. "A special award just from me."

This was rare among rare; an award that did not constitute her just standing there while watching them stuff their faces and leaving her the remains! What will he do, she wondered. Give her proper, nutritious food? Lighten her work load? Give her a better bed?

An amused grin appeared on his face because he knew she was naïve and gullible and wouldn't understand his award at all. And that's what made it entirely better.

Malik tilted his head. "If you do win tonight, you will be lying with me, naked of course. You will sleep with me."

The girl scrunched her face in confusion. "So, I will be sleeping next to master…"

"If you win," He reminded.

"In master's bed." His comfy, silky bed.

"Yes." And his grin deepened. "You're dismissed."

When the girl left the room, she smiled, a worn out, breakable smile, but a smile nonetheless. "Sorry master, but a good night sleep won't sway my decision."

So as the day dragged on, the girl thought about her opponent and how her opponent would kill her. A hefty sword; Painful, but promising; Combat; It'll take longer considering her abilities, but good nonetheless; An axe; one big swing and she'll be history.

She sighed, an unknown emotion in her sound. What was death?

Inevitable, surely, a constant risk in her life, like a companion who walked by her side and waited patiently to pick her up when she falls. She has seen death nearly everyday, whether by her masters' hands or by her own, she's seen it, witnessed it, heard it, and breathed it. Lifeless on the outside, but the inside…

Acknowledging the inevitable, however, did not entitle understanding it. The idea of an after-life, eternity and peace and had always been foreign to her mind. She could rarely think about it in a place like this, even when the slaves sometimes talked about it, though when she did think about it, she had had some simple, imperfect guesses to what death was.

But now, she had a certain answer to death: A way to end suffering, to end everything that's been harming her. And when that happens, death will welcome her with open arms, invite her into an eternal calm, a beginning to something that would never again come to an end.

Yes, she couldn't wait for tonight.

* * *

As expected, the arena was loud and packed.

Much had anticipated this fight and now that it was finally here, their excitement couldn't be contained.

The girl, after a few moments of thoughtless standing, dropped her hood over her head. This was it, her due date, where her life will end in a hopeless battle. She liked to believe that in death, she would find something in her eternal calm to call her own, something that wouldn't be painted black for once.

"Are you READY!?" That was her cue.

"The Wild Shadow!"

She walked out into the open field, their cheers louder once they spotted her and, as usual, she looked at the screaming crowd in detachment.

"And the other opponent, Tharb!"

She focused intently, eyes distinguishing the figure from the dark arc beyond the gate, big yet slim—a man most definitely—and as the person approached the center, her eyes widened a little.

She had never seen a person like this before, so strange and tall! Not only tall, but this man was a sack of chiseled muscles. And his hair, an outlandish style that had his hair swept upwards and worn high on his forehead.

He had a sword; she could see it resting in its holster. The girl bit her lip. She had been beaten bloody, cut and burned and thrashed and broken and strangled and even drowned. So why was she feeling uneasy by the image of her getting sliced up by her opponent's weapon?

She glanced sideways at the owners. They were leaning forward in their throne-like seats, eyes trained on her opponent with avid interest. How would they treat her body after death, she wondered. They would most likely desecrate it out of anger, but it would be useless to do that. Still, she has to perform somewhat of a show.

She fell into her signature stance. The crowd screamed and whistled. Her opponent readied himself.

"Fight!"

The girl charged head on, aiming for a high kick to the chest. The guy easily blocked it, but was taken back by the might of her kick, if not by the quick widen of his eyes. He sidestepped, trying to stay out of her vision, but her body fluidly trailed his movements while turning on one leg, her other already brought up for a side knee kick in the ribs.

He saw this and brought up an arm to block it and he winced.

He was fast for his stature, blocking and dodging her blows with such ease, it seemed as if she was slow as ever. At first, the fight was a stalemate, neither could gain any ground on the other. The girl reverted to flipping out the way to avoid his attacks, but that was the most she could do. She was able to nick him in the face and his chest, but not really full on hit him. It was mostly trading blows, bruising each other up, but soon enough, Tharb gradually gained the upper hand, to the shock of the crowd.

She didn't have to fake lose. She was actually losing.

He got her so many times, she felt like a ragged doll being stomped on by a child. No, this is what she wanted. She was done now.

She looked over to the owners, sensed their displeasure and infuriation. She had to get away from it; it was choking her. She has to end it before they take out that device.

After a few more hits—he dodged all hers and two hit her—she found something odd.

Why was Tharb only punching and kicking at her? Granted, they're fully effective, but he wasn't doing what she was doing—acrobatic moves, hitting with every part of her body—. Why wasn't he using his sword to fight? Throughout the whole fight, he didn't once brandish his sword. Did he believe that she was so beneath his skill that he didn't even need his sword? This fight has been dragging on, and the crowd was growing restless; he could just end it with a powerful swipe of his sword. It was as if he didn't…

_No!_ She nearly cried aloud.

Tharb didn't want to kill her.

No wonder his moves consisted just punches and kicks and no complex moves. No wonder he didn't unsheathe his sword.

What is he doing in an arena if he wasn't planning on killing?

The girl was hyperventilating, each sharp intake matching her frantic mood. Her eternal calm was slipping farther and farther.

"Why aren't you using your sword?" She called out, earning an eyebrow raise from Tharb.

"I—"

The girl jumped, flipping over Tharb's head and landing behind him in a desperate pose. She took his hand, made it hover over his sword.

"Please, take out your sword!"

"What?"

"Take your sword and kill me!"

Tharb sucked in a breath and stared down at the hooded girl, all words lost. She wanted to die. She needed to die. If she did it herself, there would be no fulfillment.

"Kill me, kill me. Please, kill me!" She was smiling, bitter and it looked like it could crumble any second. Her voice was somehow…hollow. Like it was echoing up from some place deep inside her. Tharb was struck on how much she implored for him to take her life.

The girl's gaze moved to the owners, who were already beyond piss and one of them was reaching inside his jacket pocket. The device!

"Please kill me! Kill me!" She fell to her knees, gripping his hand hard.

Before anything, a reflection or even a brief thought, a scream suddenly hit the air, horrified. In what seemed to be a drastic slow in time, the girl snapped her attention to the location of the scream and she froze.

Then the owners who should've been there were now sliced chunks of meat and their heads were gone, gone, gone.

Everyone was now out of their seats running, just for the sake of it. It didn't have to be towards an exit, just getting away from the danger was enough. But the assailants swam in the shadows, obliterating everyone in sight, slicing and dicing and everything was just blood. The girl was left in shock by the carnage. It was all happening in a matter of seconds, the shrieks, the bodies, red, so very red.

Her fingers felt emptiness and that's when she realized that Tharb was gone, using the most perfect opportunity to vanish into the blood tainted air. But that was the least of her worries. The girl felt split apart, a new entity that was clueless to gore. She had ripped heads, made screeching holes in flesh, broke bones like twigs, but was troubled on how determine the assailants were to paint the arena red. Dismembered limbs; who does that liver belong too?

The other one, the seeking side, saw through the cracks of this impromptu attack. The owners were now dead, her masters, her controllers, her captors no more. She could run away, right now, out into the unaware streets of the Capital, no one would care to stop her. This was freedom, out from the clutches into the world like a fresh newborn baby. Her eternal calm was gone, but she didn't need it, not right now. A smile wouldn't come to her, however.

Because this freedom was so distasteful. Why? How so?

She never thought a day like this would come, but this freedom was shaped wrong in so many places.

_The others…_

_They're probably dead already._

She brushed away the thought. While she counted the many times the other slaves were bitter, nasty and sometimes violent towards her, their blood has been shed by her times too many and she had to get rid of this sour sense of freedom.

Call it an act of redemption.

Through the screaming, the sick warmth and bodies, the girl ran to the slave quarters, using the secret passage that the owners always took to get from the arena to the cages faster. The assailants were working fast, too fast, cutting down half of the population already.

The slave quarters were in the bowels of the arena, a place where nature would never visit and never bless. But now, they were blessed for when the girl reached, she was relieved that everything and everyone remain untouched. Hushed whispers of confusion were immediate at the sight of her, though, they still kept their bitterness intact.

"What's going on up there?" One man slave asked, deep within his cage.

"The ground above vibrates frantically," A woman slave added worriedly.

"What did you do?" Another man slave asked accusingly.

"I did not a thing," The girl assured, "Please, listen to me. There are group of attackers killing everyone up there. Our masters are dead."

The whole room drew in a collective breath. She tried to imagine, in the darkness, what their faces would look like.

"That's why we must leave quickly." The girl went to the first cage, but the slave inside skittered back into the darkness of his cage like a frightened feeble animal.

"Are you mad? We can't go up there!" He hissed.

"We won't last one second!"

"Are you trying to kill us?"

"Surely they won't find this place. It's hidden well."

"Yes, she's right! We should stay here, hide and wait."

And more slaves were agreeing and staying and bating, she felt helpless against their decision. It wouldn't be farfetched to believe that the attackers have high intelligence with their skill; they could find this place without much effort.

"No. They could find us. We have to leave." Beyond protest, she kicked the metal teeth of the first cage and they broke like nothing. The girl didn't wait, she went down the line, punching and kicking the cages apart while passing by the opposing insults. They wouldn't get out. They didn't understand; it was still sour.

"YOU!"

She almost bit her tongue off.

There he was, matching gashes on his left cheek and left arm, blood spilling like a slow fountain.

Malik, an owner, was standing a few feet away from her.

He walked closer, the darkness made as if the shadows everywhere were gliding him across the floor. He was coming, she was backing and when the color of the torches lit his face, the girl gasped on how…deranged he looked.

His eyes were darkening, the look of someone losing his treasured control, pushing past his careful limits. No, she had seen them! Their heads were decapitated!

"This is all your fault!" He spat through clenched teeth, "If only you had kill that guy! I was the only one that made it!"

Before she knew it, Malik was already less than a feet away, leaving bloody dots on the brick ground and no…he had it…. He had the device locked tightly in his left hand.

He pressed it. She hissed out.

She would always be a stranger to this pain because it attacked every sense and the stinging linger; like sharp needles raking down her body.

"Nothing but a filthy whore slave! Stupid bitch!" He backhanded her, which only agitated the pain from the device and her fight. He then pressed the button again and again, again, again, again and again with no breaks. He added kicks and punches and more slaps, the girl could've sworn that the embers of the torch was turning gray.

Reduced to a throbbing mess, she panted, squeaky and heavy and she just lay there, like a _good little slave girl_. All the other slaves remained in their cages, intentionally mute and disturbingly hopeful that their master will take it out on her and _only _her.

The girl felt her body be turned upwards, red hair leaving her face, her back now on the floor.

"I'm not dying tonight," He stated with a sort of strange pride, "And you're going to give me what I want."

They took everything away from her. What could he possibly want?

That's when he started tugging down her pants and it was over. She was lying there, eyes to the ceiling, bottom half bare and the rushed ruffling noise of Malik unbuckling his pants filling the air. His left hand still held the device.

"As long as I have this, " He waved the device in her face, "You'll always be a slave. You'll die as a slave."

The girl shut her eyes and silently, solemnly agreed. What was she thinking, trying to escape with everyone, trying to die during her battle. She should've just listened like a _good little slave girl_. Because that's all she was: a slave. Fate would never change that.

…

…

She heard light footsteps.

"AAAHHH!"

The girl felt droplets on her face, warm and silky. She knew this sensation, it's familiar because she dipped her hands in it so many times. _Blood._ She opened her eyes, sat up with the remaining vestige of energy she had and saw Malik, curled into a ball, shrieking and cradling his left hand or where his left hand _used to_ be.

It twitched, the hand, moving in its pool of blood until it went lax and the device was naked.

The other slaves screamed.

"There's one down here!"

"We're all gonna die!"

The girl could see a figure, but he was smothered in the darkness, not anywhere near the light of the torches and while her eyes failed to make out anything specific, her eyes wouldn't move away.

"You're such a piece of shit…"

A male voice seemed to drift around them and she listened, knowing that he was an attacker, a dangerous threat.

"When Boss told me that the Thorens arena was doing slavery, I couldn't believe it. How stupid of me not to. I've already realized that I live in a fucked-up world."

A shard of light caught him and the girl saw hair slightly spiked, face cut in half by the darkness, but the intimidation wasn't lost. The girl kept her staring because that was all she could do, stare at the attacker while he was biding his time.

A strangled noise came afterwards and her indigo eyes shifted to Malik. She completely forgot that he was still there, alive and kicking, didn't even notice when he stood up, his right arm cuddling his handless left arm.

Suddenly, he ran, scrambling towards the device in a dire effort to be dominate, to be on top, to not die, but the attacker, with such swift and precision, chopped off Malik's right hand. The blood-curling screams that followed made the girl's stomach pity fall to her toes. Her master was in so much pain and pity was there, but another emotion was standing along with pity, she couldn't place it. It felt like a stranger inside her skin, encouraging her to _revel_ in his agony, like it was some sort of victory.

_Render his legs useless now_

_It won't stop_

_You're finally acknowledging me, huh?_

It felt far too comfortable.

"You don't know shit!" Malik shouted furiously, "Who the fuck do you people think you are, coming in here, ruining my business, trying to take away my slaves—"

"Don't call them slaves!" The attacker—is he still—growled, "They're people and they deserve freedom!"

The girl was genuinely taken back. This attacker, no, this person was fighting for them. She was always referred to slave, slave girl, slave warrior, Wild Shadow, but never once a person, a human being. Her heart felt lighter, almost, as if it can buoy out of her mouth.

The guy kicked the device and by weird chance, it stopped right in front of her and she looked at it, feeling as if it was the first time she ever saw it. The guy's eyes were nowhere and somewhere, she couldn't see it, but she could sense it on her, very expectantly.

He wanted her to smash it.

Malik, despite his condition, laughed, the sound almost lost in the quarters. "Like I said, you don't know shit," He mocked, "You don't know what kind of people these shitty ass slaves are. Some of them are worst than you murderers, oh, no, murderers for justice, how fucking ironic."

He tilted his head to point at the girl frozen on the floor. "Do you know how many people this one killed, innocent people? People who are not pro-Empire, affiliated with the military or just fucked-up?"

It was all flashing before her, all the people she killed, who didn't know what they were up against. She felt like she had to do it, that's when she was afraid of death.

"I don't care."

Her eyes widened.

"We're all guilty of something at some point in our lives, remorseful or not. It's how we deal with it that matters, what we're willing to do from that there on."

_Are you willing to fight for your freedom?_

She could practically hear him whisper in her head and it was like magma cooling inside her bones leaving them sharp and hard. She fought for others pleasure, fought because she was forced too, even fought because she wanted to die, but it was once upon a time ago she fought for freedom.

Now, she realized, the tasteless freedom from before. It was the cowardly way out, running away and leaving everyone else behind. Even the thought of dying was cowardly, dying as a worthless slave, just like Malik said she would.

"And she's willing to fight for her freedom! Her freedom is worth fighting for!"

_Are you willing to fight for your __**freedom**__?_

In the past, she closed her eyes against the things she didn't want to see, she covered her ears against the things she didn't want to hear and she hardened her heart against the things she didn't want to feel, but tonight…her heart felt defenseless.

This person's will was almost a living thing, down her throat and into her belly like swallowing lightning. He managed to fill that single word, _freedom_, with so much meaning, she had to open her mouth like a gaping fish. What was this feeling? It was so…resolute, so filling. She didn't want it to fade. It was amazing and strange, this feeling, that she was actually standing on stable feet, that someone else desired her freedom as much as she.

"I…am," She whispered absently.

The girl placed a bare foot daintily over the device, this little thing that put fear in her, and smashed it once. That was all it took. Now the thing wasn't even identifiable in the crater she created.

Malik lost it.

"No! What the fuck!? This is not fair! Why is this happening to me!? No! I don't wanna—"

And she silenced him with a stomp in the head.

_Again_

She stomped.

_Again_

Stomp.

_AGAIN_

Stomp.

Now, all the owners were dead.

A touch on her shoulder made her violently jump and she turned to meet eyes with…she couldn't name what she should call him. He wasn't an attacker anymore, perhaps her savior?

What was this? She tasted salt; her eyes were blurred. She didn't understand.

Were these tears? Was she crying? Why?

Yes, it seemed why was the right question. She didn't feel sad, she didn't think. Just…light yet full. It was relatively nice…Lulling, almost. She felt her face to ensure she'd really felt that dampness. True enough, it was still there, racing down her cheeks. At this, the girl merely blinked slowly before lowering her hands and gazing at the mush beneath her feet.

She hadn't cried, really genuinely cried. She couldn't remember the last time she did, but she knew that it had been ages. It was like her eyes were crying, but she wasn't; tears without origin. Because tears only symbolized sadness, right?

Wiping them away, her eyes fell back to the male, but he wasn't looking at her, as if on purpose.

Without any warning, he took her shoulders and his eyes sank into her eyes. Small traces of shiver crawled down to her skin and spine at his dramatic touch.

"Are you okay?" He asked, very worriedly. She managed to control her gaping—because no one has ever asked her of her wellbeing before—and she nodded.

"If I didn't do that, he would've…" He squeezed his eyes shut. Just the brief image alone of a person getting raped was putting him on edge. He took a deep calm breath and carefully picked up her pants lying close to the trashed corpse.

"H-Here." He gave her the pants. The girl took it and whisked it on.

Fully clothed, she glanced back at him before resuming breaking the cages. The slaves were ever so quiet, slight whimpering when she approached their cages, but still silent. It was a quick second later that the male started aiding her.

"You're strong," He said in awe and she didn't reply, because she didn't know how to reply. Not to praise, at least.

All the slaves were finally out and they gathered in one cluster. They skirted around the man, however, still apprehensive and a tidbit uneasy about the ordeal. Eyes inspecting the slaves (and their emaciated figures, holy shit, people are messed up), he saw this.

"Don't worry," He said, hands up in a placating gesture, "I'm not going to hurt you."

That eased everyone's sore mind.

"Everyone should be done up there."

"So, it was you and your people…that killed everyone and our masters." It was more a statement than a question.

A beat. "Yes."

"So, what will you be doing with us?" One slave spoke.

The male scratched his head. "Isn't it obvious? I'm freeing you guys."

There was a great silence before a sob pulled the hesitance back. Soon after, others followed in a series of sobs and cheers all from their disbelief, that this was actually happening, what they've been dreaming for decades was coming true.

They left the slave den into the arena above where the rusty smell of chaos greeted them. The girl heard plenty of the slaves gasp at the sight; a parade of guts and bodies. She couldn't doubt now. The people who did this were helping her. It was amazing how the chilly night air amplified every sound, from the patter of feet on the dirt path to the harsh flapping of the guy's jacket in the breeze. She gazed at the guy he ran and suddenly, she wanted to catch up to him.

He led them passed the back of the arena into the outskirts of Thorens and the girl's eyes widened at the silver world. Slaves were prohibited from stepping a foot out of the arena, or even their dens, unless for chores or being called.

The moon was at its fullest and so was she. As the arena was becoming a mere speck in the distance, the years, the years that she could remember, was flashing in every corner of her eyes. The beatings, the punishments, the torture, the stripping, it was going by so fast, it changed to white noise in her ears. The friction of the real earth beneath her feet was exciting and soon enough, she was ahead of the group.

Was this freedom? This freedom felt exhilarating.

"Tatsumi, over here!" A voice called and the man, seemingly Tatsumi, broke from the group of slaves.

The girl's eyes followed and there, not too far away, a band of people stood, one waving enthusiastically to said male. The group of slaves shared looks before going over to them. The girl followed lastly.

"You got them out! Nice going!" A woman congratulated, burying him in her rather ample breasts.

"Cut it out, Leone! Did you forget we're on a mission!?" A girl shouted. What was that huge thing she had on her back?

"Chill out, Mein. The mission is basically over, right, Akame?"

Another girl came forward, a long sword faithfully at her side. The girl didn't miss the glistening blood on her sword, or her hell touched red eyes.

"Yes, it is," She answered, "But we should still keep our guard up. You know that, Leone."

"I say we have less than thirty minutes before someone sees what happened, so I think we should get the hell out of here," A tall, muscular guy commented…wait… The girl gasped…Was that Tharb?

"T-Tharb?" The girl forced out and, immediately, all the attention was on her. Tharb chuckled a little at the sky then crossed his arms.

"Tharb? Really? You couldn't think of a name that, I don't know, doesn't suck?" A guy piped up behind Tharb, hands in his pockets and eyes set on him as if he was the leading retard of the world.

"What's wrong with it? I couldn't think of a name and this one was easier to remember since it's my name backwards."

The girl sucked in a breath of disbelief. So, her opponent was in on it the whole time. That explains his disappearance and not wanting to kill her.

"So, where will they go?" Tastumi asked, turning to his comrades. The question was followed by a reluctant silence and the slaves were growing anxious at the multiple of stares that swept them.

"That's not really our problem." The woman, known as Leone, broke the silence.

"Nee-san!"

"It's not."

"There has to be somewhere they can go!"

"Well," The red-eyed girl interjected, "When Boss told us the information, she said that Malik Thorens and his partners kidnapped people who were in families instead of the homeless and unwanted."

"So they should have homes to go to," The girl called Mein added.

"But…" A man slave stepped forward, hands tangled in his tattered clothing. His face was withered and scarred. "I was taken away from my wife ten years ago. What if she found a new lover?" He finished with a tremble end.

"They took me away from my grandma," A girl slave said.

"They took me away from my brothers and sisters."

"They took me away from my son."

"They took me away from my parents."

Everyone was expressing his or her hapless incidents. They were afraid that their love ones wouldn't remember them or had moved on with their lives without them. The girl just watched with half-lidded eyes. At least, they could remember. Had their memories intact and strong and living that, within a blink of an eye, they could remember every piece—even trivial pieces—of their loved ones. Could remember the happiness in being with them and the pain from being torn apart.

She has nothing.

"You have to give it a try," Someone said and everyone looked to see Tharb—or whatever his real name is—, voice smooth as the whispering night. And it carried and tickled everyone's ears.

"They may have moved on, yes, but if they really love you, they wouldn't forget. People who have precious ones are always thinking about them, always wondering if they're safe and sound and if not, always have memories to keep them alive."

Their moods completely changed, giving each other encouraging smiles and agreeing with the buff man.

"Besides, if it doesn't work out, I have a friend on the west side of the Capital, Jeffrey Dunns, he has a center that helps people get back on their feet."

"Aniki…" Tatsumi murmured admiringly.

Taking use of their liberation, the slaves voiced their gratitude and fled with no attention in looking back. The girl, unlike the others, took her time treading down the hill. There wasn't anyone to return to, so why quicken her pace.

"What about you?" She turned only to have a face full of Tastumi, a somewhat concern look grasping his face. He was disarmingly close.

_Why is he so concerned over me?_ Her eyes slid to the ground, ashamed almost.

"I—" She barely got out.

"Oh! If you knew my pseudo name, you must be the girl I fought!" Her former opponent appeared beside Tatsumi, even teeth in an impressive grin, "You pack a mean ass whollop! If I didn't give any strength in those blocks, you would've shattered my bones!"

"Wait, she's the one?" Leone asked, baffled.

"When we were freeing them, she was breaking down the metal cages like they were toothpicks!" Tastumi said in astonishment and swerved back to her. "You must be from a strong fa—"

"I…don't remember." She effectively cut his sentence. Her eyes were completely lost in the red veil of her bangs. "I don't remember my family."

She dared not to see what faces they had; all their looks be put to vain. "I don't remember the years before I was taken. I don't remember when I was taken. I don't remember my name." She clutched her pants, ripping them almost. "I just remember punishments and killing."

Everything was cold and lonely and that was her life, cold and lonely. Freedom lasted only for a few breathless seconds until reality came shoveling down, hard and forceful. In this void, only her and a scarred plane existed, no routes or paths to guide her, knowing it would be bleak end.

She suddenly felt a soft shuffle and it felt as if her skin had grown another layer. It was encompassing, taking her whole that she was defenseless against it. But then she was immersed in soft tingles and tender touches and that foreign feeling fed her curiosity.

She raised her head; could clearly see that Tatsumi's hands were once again on her shoulders, but his forever-moving jacket wasn't on him anymore. Then the nice warmth settled in and the earth beneath her became flimsy. This sensation…this nice, bubbling warmth was so strange, yet so beautiful.

The girl finally caught up to what Tatsumi did. She realized this sensation was all from the jacket, _his_ jacket draped over her body. Her eyes burned from how wide her eyes were, burned, burned, burned, but she wouldn't stop.

"Are you an idiot!? If you're thinking that we're gonna take her in, you better get rid of that thought right now!" Mein stomped over to Tatsumi, her candy-floss pigtails raging with her.

"Where else is she gonna go!?" He yelled right back.

"Like Braht said, to his friend's center!"

"Yeah, where she'll go, get a life just to be exploited again!"

Mein closed her mouth, not much in silence, but in truth.

"He has a point," said Braht in between their argument.

"B-But…!"

"You won't catch me saying this ever again, but I agree with Mein." Leone went over to Mein's side, fiddling with a strand of her hair. "We're assassins, not an adoption center."

"Well," The guy next to Braht said offhandedly, hands behind his head. "What we say doesn't mean shit. It's up to Najenda-san in the end."

A beat and a sigh. "Tatsumi and Braht did say she has skill," The girl whose black hair blended in the night, Akame, voiced. "Plus, we've been here too long. We need to leave. Now."

If it weren't for her acute sense in being an assassin, knowing that people were attracted to calamity like flies were to carcasses, she would've still protested. Instead, she turned and fixed her weapon that was losing its grip on her back.

The girl looked at Tatsumi and he looked back.

"It's fine now. You're fine now," He said, soft and slow and so sure.

His smile was bright like sunlight, sucking in the moon and spitting out the sun. Her mind was sprinting and she could see everything that was once red, black and gray, eroding away until she could see…green, yes his eyes are green! And that woman's hair is yellow and that girl's hair is pink! That guy's hair is green! She could see all sorts of colors!

The girl's eyes held the faintest stardust that was miles away from visible sight, but it still twinkled nonetheless. The nameless tears showed again once Tatsumi held her wrist and led her.

And the crisp night of sweet freedom dried her tears.

* * *

**In the psyche of my OC:**

**A few things to mention. Yes, she deliberately does not have name. Again, her name was one of the many things she forgot, but don't worry about it that much. She will get a name sooner or later. The girl... is a strange one, or at least I'm trying to make her strange. She understands communication and basic needs, but has zero common sense and of course lacks in the knowledge of social norms. She doesn't understand the concept of sex, the reason why she didn't react that much to almost being raped and was puzzled why Tatsumi was so enraged by it. She never experienced tears of joy, only distraught, so that's why she was so confused when she was crying during her somewhat happy scenes. About her wanting death, it was mostly her 'other' side encouraging her to do it and other horrible things. If I continue with this story, I can't tell you much about her slight multiple personality disorder; it's a plot device. Just know that she's a slave no more!**


End file.
